A Revival or a Hanging
by Twinings
Summary: Doesn't anything exciting ever happen between Halloween and Thanksgiving? No, not Guy Fawkes Day. Good guess, though! -CAT-


_Disclaimer: Not owned by me. CATfic (check it out at catverse-dot-com) taking place early in November of 2016, after Techie's "Short Circuit" and before whatever fic comes after that. I don't know._

_This is dedicated to Dr. David E. Johnson, author of _A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the White House_, who would have dearly loved to have seen this election through to the end, and without whom I would never have dreamed of writing professionally. May you watch us from the cosmos, always with a smile. I love you, Granddaddy. Always.  
-Your LBJ_

* * *

"Does [the art of politics] appear to be unqualifiedly ratty, raffish, sordid, obscene, and low down, and its salient virtuosi a gang of unmitigated scoundrels? Then let us not forget its high capacity to soothe and tickle the midriff, its incomparable services as a maker of entertainment."

-H.L. Mencken

* * *

Screams in the Scarecrow's lair were usually a good thing. It was when the screams went silent that Jonathan Crane got cranky, whether the silence was due to a tiresome lack of experimentation, or to the fact that the test subjects had just been given new hope by the sight of their tormentor's battered and usually unconscious body slung over Batman's shoulder.

Surprisingly enough, neither of those unfortunate circumstances had come about this year, in spite of the fact that _everyone_ knew to watch out for the Scarecrow on Halloween. (He wasn't even welcome at the Iceberg on what Oswald referred to as his High Holy Day, not since the year a dispute with Film Freak involving the rules of slasher movies had gotten a _little_ out of hand. Weston had recovered, with time and extensive therapy. The chandelier had...not.)

This fine November morning, however, Jonathan was well on his way to breaking a pair of teenage girls whose faces had been all over the news since their disappearance Halloween night. They were both white, popular, and upper middle class, a perfect recipe for media darlings _du jour_. And while the fact that they were only fourteen, barely past the mama bear cutoff, made his henchgirls a tad uncomfortable, the stupidity the dynamic duet had shown in knocking at his door, smelling of bubblegum and wine coolers, dressed as _Robin_ and _Batgirl_ rather made up for it in their minds.

So today he had test subjects, and they were screaming (one more than the other, as he had left the Robin untouched; every experiment needed a control) and the day should have been a good one.

Enter the henchgirls. Three sets of boots tromping down the stairs, three voices raised in too-cheery greetings, the smell of coffee and--what was that, waffles?--invading his sanctuary. He swiveled in his chair, sucking in the breath he'd need to make his displeasure known over the little blonde Batgirl's hysterical sobbing, but stopped short at the sight of the veritable mountain of pancakes Al was holding aloft.

Pancakes.

The Captain's pancakes were--he had to be fair here--worth stopping work over. He would never say as much, but he knew it was true, and she knew he knew.

And, knowing their power, she only ever made the Pancakes of God (Al's name, _not_ his) on truly momentous occasions.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What do you want?"

"What?"

Jonathan glanced down at the subject, thrashing vigorously but still well restrained, and raised his voice.

"What do you _want_?"

Techie held up her coffee cup in a chipper salute.

"To feed you," said the Captain. His eyes narrowed further.

"_Why_?"

"Because I slept ten hours straight last night. That deserves a celebration."

"Congratulations," he said wryly. "I'll come up for coffee when I'm done here."

The Captain's eyes flashed in that particular way they did whenever someone mentioned Michael Bay, and the corners of her mouth jerked before stretching into an even wider smile.

"That's your call," she said sweetly, and turned and glided regally up the stairs, head held high, followed by her friends.

Jonathan turned his attention back to his weeping subject, hiding the smirk that was trying to escape. It was altogether too rare an occurrence that he actually _got_ to one of the girls, who could shrug off the most cutting remarks like water off a duck. Obviously, insulting the Captain's pancakes was a far worse crime than insulting the woman herself.

A crime, he realized belatedly, for which she might decide to punish him by not saving him any.

He waved his hand in front of the Batgirl's face. She didn't react.

He could afford to take a _quick_ break.

--

It came as no great surprise to any of the girls when Jonathan emerged from the lab after the shortest time he could possibly have managed while still maintaining plausible deniability. No one said a word as he took his accustomed place at the rickety kitchen table. (Well, no one but Kitten, who vocalized her usual delight at seeing him again.)

Al pushed a plate toward him. He frowned at the bacon and eggs crowding the pancakes toward the edge.

"What's _this_?"

"Still breakfast," the Captain said, then turned to the baby in her arms and added, "Tell him, Kit." Kitten squealed.

Jonathan glared at the brat in silence. She had grown from a scrawny, ugly little red-faced larva into what he'd pictured as a "real" baby, round, wiggly, with a toothless grin, prone to making happy little noises and always reaching out to him, fascinated most especially with his hands, which she tried to pull into her mouth more often than not. The Captain never hesitated to use the _cuteness_ to try to catch him with a smile on his face.

Damned if he was going to give her the satisfaction.

Al nudged his plate a little closer.

"Stop that," he snapped.

"Then stop staring at the baby and eat up."

Pointedly, he reached for his coffee cup instead and took a sip, expecting it to be "old as the hills, black as sin, and strong enough to knock me flat and then keep me up for three nights straight." (If the Captain liked her coffee like she liked her men, as the saying went, it was a wonder she ever showed up for work, especially since she never drank just one cup at a time.) He was pleasantly surprised to find that she had gone with a much milder-tasting light roast, with just a hint of the chicory she loved so much, as well as...sugar.

The woman who insisted that "ruining" a good cup of coffee with cream and sugar was blasphemy of the highest order had sweetened his coffee for him, just the way he liked it.

He set the cup down.

"All right, what's your game?"

The Captain looked at Techie with a smirk he almost didn't catch.

"See? I told you he was too smart to fall for it."

He could almost bring himself to applaud her tactics.

"Did you make cookies?" he asked Techie.

"No!" She frowned. "...maybe. Well, so what if I did! If the answer's yes, will you come out with us today?"

"Out where?"

She huffed in the Captain's direction.

"You played the smart card _way_ too early. It's election day, Squishy. We're going to vote."

"Vote?" said Al. "You said we were going out for ice cream."

Jonathan couldn't help it. He started to laugh.

"You actually want to go out and _vote_?"

"It's a presidential election. It's _important._" Both Techie and the Captain were looking pretty stormy. Jonathan stifled his mirth, but couldn't help shaking his head.

"Why?"

"Why? _Why_?" Techie waved her arms in his face, a habit that never failed to annoy him. "_Because_, that's why!" The Captain smiled.

"I think what Ops _means_ to say is--"

"I_ know_ what I mean to say! Jonathan, don't you _care_? Don't you care about the economy? Healthcare? The crappy state of public education?"

"No." She didn't seem to hear him.

"Doesn't it bother you that we're on the verge of _another_war with Kaznia?"

"_No_," he repeated. "None of this affects me." Since Techie looked like she wanted nothing more than to hit him, the Captain stepped in.

"Jesus, Squishy, are you that self-centered?" She didn't sound angry...just _disappointed._ The magic of motherhood, he had to assume. "Don't you have _any_ stance? On _any_ issue?"

"I'm against the death penalty."

It was quite possibly the first joke he'd ever deliberately made that failed to make them laugh.

"That's a good philosophy," said the Captain. "Vote for the candidate least likely to kill you."

Al hid her face behind her glass of chocolate milk (no coffee for that one.) She was getting far too much enjoyment out of this conversation for a mere spectator.

"Who do you want me to vote for?" he asked sharply. "The blowhard who treats his war record as an excuse to wedgie anyone who tries to take his spot on the playground--and his harlequin hench wench--or the shining knight and his cardboard cutout?"

"What's wrong with a knight?" demanded Techie.

"Never trust a politician in shining armor. In fact, I wouldn't think _you_ would trust any politician at all." The self-proclaimed anti-government conspiracy theorist looked suitably chagrined, until the Captain threw down her fork.

"Don't listen to him, Ops. You _know_Frohike would have voted. When you want to fix what's wrong with the world, you don't sit there bitching about it. You _do_ something. And if the best you can do is try to put someone in power who you _hope_ will try to make things right, that's what you do. You cast your vote." She hugged her daughter closer. "The future is in our hands."

"The future is _not_ in our hands." Where was all their insufferable optimism coming from? "When did a single vote ever make a difference?"

"The election of the first robot president. And Nixon's re-election as President of Earth."

"Shut up, Al. Are you girls even registered in this county?"

"Of course," said the Captain, as if she couldn't believe he would even ask such a question. "And I'm not a girl. We registered be...fore we died..."

He took a sip of coffee and dug into his pancakes while they processed that forgotten tidbit of information.

"We'll find a way," Techie decided. He had to roll his eyes. Were they really that thick?"

"No, you _won't_." Techie started to protest. He silenced her with a wave of his hand. "You're a wanted _felon_. We all are. What do you think is going to happen when you go down there?" He bit into a piece of bacon, and realized that there were some things, after all, that the Captain didn't cook so very well.

Smiling serenely, as if somehow reassured by the look on his face, the bacon burner in question pushed back from the table.

"Fine. You two stay here and watch the baby. Ops, pack up the cookies. I have a foolproof plan."

And if that statement didn't presage Unholy Doom, he didn't know what would.

--

The best thing about November, in Karen Wagner's opinion, was the weather. Fall fashion was coming to an end, and if there was one advantage Karen had over other girls, it was this: she looked damn good in her winter coat. Her current companions looked more like a bear and a marshmallow.

Of course, if Jenny's boyfriend's behavior was any indication, she'd have to say that bear trumped chick like scissors beat paper. The only obvious female in the group, and she was still getting ignored. It was enough to turn any girl on to chocolate.

Which was why she pointed out the bake sale.

Of course, Lauren rolled her eyes, and Jenny asked, mothering-sweet, "Are you sure you need to be eating _more_cookies?" But for once, she had unlooked-for support in Todd, who couldn't have failed to notice the women _running_ this little cookie stand, one buxom, one leggy, and both bouncing up and down quite energetically, having failed to dress for the weather.

The bouncing stopped when the group of students approached. The brunette self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she greeted them, shivering.

"Hey, guys. Got the munchies?"

Karen could _feel_the tension suddenly boiling off her companions. They knew as well as she did that ADPi couldn't afford to be associated with that kind of thing. Not after the unpleasantness with Regina de Marco.

Before anyone had a chance to tell her off, the one with the mop of dark curls raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Just a joke. College campus and all. Don't worry, you're obviously not a bunch of stoners. But you should still buy some cookies. Keep your strength up. I bet you have a lot of studying to do."

"I'll take one," Karen said, since her friends seemed to have realized they were in danger of contracting GDI cooties. "White chocolate macadamia?"

"I've got a ton of 'em." Karen was fishing in her pocket for some money when the woman asked, as if it didn't really matter one way or the other, "So, have you voted yet?"

"Huh? No. Why?"

The brunette pointed to the hand-lettered sign that none of them had bothered to read: COOKIES HALF OFF WITH PROOF OF PARTICIPATION IN THE DEMOCRATIC PROCESS (with the addendum NO, THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE TO VOTE DEMOCRAT, and the second addendum, NO, **THIS** DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE TO VOTE REPUBLICAN, SO STOP ASKING SILLY QUESTIONS.)

"We're trying to encourage people to take part in the election," said the other one. Jenny laughed.

"_Why_? What difference does it make?"

"I take it that means it's not important to _you_. Are you registered?" she asked directly to Karen, putting up an invisible wall to shut the other three out.

"Yeah."

"Good. Come back with a sticker, and the next one's on the house."

"God, Karen, just pay full price for the cookie and let's go," Jenny snapped. Feeling her face flush, Karen handed over the money.

"Can I ask you a question before you go?" asked the brunette. "If you were voting, who would you vote for?"

"I am voting," said Todd. "For the MILF." Jenny smacked his shoulder.

"Pig! But yeah, I guess I'd vote for the woman. I couldn't call myself much of a feminist if I voted against her."

Both cookie sellers briefly lost all traces of friendliness.

"Someone hasn't been paying attention in women's studies," said the brunette.

"Or political science," the other added. "You do realize she's the _vice_ presidential candidate?" Jenny shrugged.

"Whatever."

"Whatever indeed. How about you, Karen? Republican or Democrat?"

"I..." She glanced at her friends and steeled herself for the inevitable backlash. "Democrat. I think he has some interesting ideas. It's not like I'm voting anyway," she added hastily.

"Yeah, I guess it doesn't really matter," the brunette agreed. "Hey, we're out of peanut butter cookies. I'm going to get some more from the van."

"Can you handle it by yourself?" her friend asked.

"Well, you can't exactly leave the table unattended." She smiled at Karen. "Although I really could use a hand. Do you mind? The trays are really awkward." Karen glanced at Jenny, who was looking beyond impatient. "There's more cookies in it for you."

A less trusting person would have turned and walked away.

--

Several minutes later, after the other students had gotten bored and walked away, the Captain returned, alone, trying surreptitiously to wipe a spot of blood off Karen Wagner's ID.

"One down," she said. Techie shook her head mournfully.

"And she didn't even get to eat her cookie."

"She will! I didn't _kill_ her. I left her in a safe place and stuffed more cookies in her pockets. I didn't even steal her coat." Much as she might have wanted to. She _still_hadn't gotten used to the northern winters. "The little twitface will wake up with a nasty headache, and newfound respect for anyone who ever tried to teach her not to take candy from strangers."

"You could have gone with the other one," Techie pointed out. "You could have killed _her_. It would have been so much easier."

"But if I'm going to take someone's unused vote, it has to be from someone who would have voted my way anyway. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair."

"Since when do you care about fair?"

"I always care about fair. I just don't always care about right."

Not for the first time, Techie reflected that very few of their conversations would have made a whole lot of sense to an outsider. At least, she certainly hoped not.

--

Jonathan was watching the news and trying to pretend he wasn't allowing an infant to explore the intricacies of his shiny, shiny watch when Techie and the Captain returned, "I VOTED" stickers proudly displayed. They flopped down on either side of him, startling Kitten when her support moved underneath her.

"We're done!" Techie said, rather unnecessarily. "Where's Al?"

"Getting rid of a body."

"Will she be back before dark? We have another foolproof plan involving cookies."

Of course. Didn't they always? He tried to ignore them and keep his mind on the TV, which was, of _course_, tuned in to the election coverage.

"Hey, Squish?"

"Don't call me Squish."

"Whatever. Is it just the candidates, or do you really not care? What would you have done if Lex Luthor were running again?"

"If Luthor were running, you would all be too busy drooling over the campaign posters to bother me about it."

"_I_ wouldn't," the Captain protested.

Techie said, "Pudding." The Captain's face went bright red.

"The swimming pool was a one time thing! And you know it was more about the pudding than the man."

"Oh, you liar!"

Jonathan let the bickering fade into background noise. At least it wasn't directed at him anymore. He kept his eyes on the TV and told himself that he wasn't at all curious about what they were going to do with the rest of the cookies.

--

When Robin the Boy Wonder pulled a solo patrol, the criminals of Gotham didn't exactly sit up and take notice. A few of them might decide he wasn't worth tangling with, but it took the shadow of the Bat to really put the fear into them.

When that shadow played against the underside of the clouds in the middle of a warm yellow circle, the most superstitious and cowardly criminals had a tendency to react as if Batman were actually watching over their shoulders. For at least those first few minutes, they would clear the streets.

The cannier ones would realize that the symbol in the sky meant that the Bat was occupied elsewhere, _away_from the sidekick who was trying to question them and could potentially be taken out without interference. They never seemed to understand that Robin had skills of his own, and he had grown past the need to prove himself to every two-bit hood and wannabe mobster in Gotham. When Robin saw the symbol in the sky, he temporarily halted his search for the missing trick-or-treaters--schoolmates of his, which was why Batman had left the case in his hands--and turned himself toward police headquarters.

Once on the roof, he found no sign of Batman, Commissioner Gordon, or any other human being. There was only the brightly shining Batsignal, and underneath it...

"Oh, not again."

It wasn't that he was unhappy to be receiving a heaping, plastic-wrapped plate of cookies. Dinner had been a long time ago, and a sugar boost would be just the thing to get him through the night. If only Batman would let him eat them.

He could understand his mentor's reticence. Supervillains didn't _usually_go around leaving cookies for their archnemeses. (Every Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day, and pretty much any other time the Scarecrow's minions decided Batman might need a cookie.) Robin didn't think the Scarecrow himself knew anything about the arrangement, but he wouldn't put it past him to tamper with them if he did find out.

But even after extensive analysis had shown nothing wrong with all those previous batches, Batman had refused to allow anyone to eat them. Just because he couldn't find anything wrong, he insisted, didn't mean it wasn't there. (Robin, far less paranoid, had swiped one once when no one was looking, and suffered no ill effects beyond an irrational desire to punch Bruce in the face, steal the rest of the cookies, and run.)

In fact, he was tempted, in Batman's absence, to do something very much to that effect. But, no. No matter how painfully good the cookies might be, he was smarter than that. Besides, the note attached wasn't in Al's handwriting this time.

Robin moved closer to read it. His brow furrowed in confusion when he did.

_Have you voted?_

* * *

_Author's note: The opinions expressed within this fic do not necessarily reflect the views of the author, except for the part where Sarah Palin is the Harleen Quinzel of politics._

_Voting. It's important, guys. It may not be as straightforward _or_ as meaningful as the way it was presented to us when we were in school, but it still matters. This country was born through a war we fought for the right to set up our own government. Women like me wouldn't have the right to vote if earlier women hadn't fought, and fought _hard_, to gain that right in 1920. African-Americans gained the right to vote in 1870, but weren't truly able to exercise that right until after nearly a hundred more years of struggle. (And I am ashamed that my state took _another_ four decades to ratify the Twenty-fourth Amendment.) Voting rights were granted to the youth in 1971 because young men, younger than the then-legal voting age of twenty-one, were being drafted to fight in Vietnam. "Old enough to fight, old enough to vote."_

_The right to vote is not universal. It is ours because we fought for it--and it was worth fighting for. My generation never had to fight for these rights personally--they were handed to us by our parents and grandparents, and so we have a tendency to take them for granted. DON'T. If you are a citizen of the United States and over the age of eighteen, you had BETTER get yourself down to the polls on election day. There is no excuse not to. (**Al**. -glare-) Vote Democrat, vote Republican, vote Brain Slug Party if you really want to, just as long as you've done your research and know what you're supporting._

_And to those living anywhere other than the USA, if you're eligible to vote in your own country, do so! Captain's orders._

_/end sermon_


End file.
